Savior

Flourishing thoughts lead the sick to disheartened meadows. Green were the embers now turned to shunned brown; that which the devil's eye cast its evil glance. The dance of reveries abound for the one, the chosen, the futile. Its glimpses gather rapidly and converge on the mind to thwart all efforts at luxury. The pain of it all imposes its will to make ready the satiated soul found lingering. Knowing not what is right; knowing not which is the path most to take. Hampered in the ways of simple tasks set to the dulcet whine of the Stuka's siren, I walk, but I don't run. Why?

The realizations of past circumstances has lead a mind to bleed. The heart, the pumping force, retaliates to compensate. The forging cross born from regrets has made its presence known and founded. I bear that cross, I wear the crown of thorns, I am christ. My salvation is but for myself. In order to be born, I must first die in this shell. The forest calls to me to whither with its fall. I answer, but despondently. The fear I feel shall not overcome, but provide my strength. I will bear witness to life. I will make that step towards happiness. The colors of smiles and contented words do make my strife the road to wander. To do this for myself first must I open my ears to all that love me, and care for my redemption. I AM THE CATALYST. I AM MY OWN SAVIOR. But lest I forget the scathing tones set to me in discordant syllables, all is for none.

But not all is acrimonious, for there is the song of the Angel. The soft glance and knowing touch beside my essence that ignites a thousand stars to burning. The emanating heat scorches all bitter entanglements and brings to birth the fire of simplicity and beginning. The principle of the night turned to day and forged in saintly virtues. I heed the call.


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